Ten Thousand Fists
by Artemisdesari
Summary: The angels are coming and war is upon Dean and co. With the aid of a band of mercenary hunters and an archangel they go to fight for the earth, but can they all survive? Fourth in The Hand of Sorrow: Angel Wars arc. COMPLETE. Verse complete and closed.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the second to last fic in this arc, although it _can_ be read as the last since the next one is more of an epilogue really but it will answer a few questions that I won't answer in this one. That said, I should probably warn you all that someone in this little bundle of misfits will not survive. I'll leave you all to guess who._

_The inspiring song behind this has been a background element from day one, Ten Thousand Fists by Disturbed (I swear that is not all that I listen too, it just happens to inspire stuff that is _not_ Dean/Cas related)._

_**Disclaimer**: I'm still having to write these? Seriously, Kripke has not given me the rights to them, not a single one of them can be found in my drawers, or my bed, and therefore I have to share. If I owned them do you _really _think that I would be sharing? Regardless, not mine, and they will be given back, nor is the song, but we guessed that.  
_

Ten Thousand Fists.

_**Survivor  
Survivor**_

_**One more goddamn day when I know what I want  
And my want will be considered tonight, consider tonight  
Just another day when all that I want  
Will mark me as a sinner tonight, I'm a sinner tonight, yeah **_

They have not had enough time, that is the only thought that can go through Sam's mind as he hears Castiel relaying the news that his unknown friend has brought them, that Michael is brining the Host down upon them. He can barely believe that things have gotten to this point, that his actions and Dean's actions have really brought the world this close to the end.

Sure, he knows that this has been planned since long before he was born and that the angels and demons have unknowingly been working towards the same basic goal for longer than he can possibly comprehend, though this does not stop him from trying, but it is one thing to know that on a mental level, and another to know it emotionally. Emotionally, Sam does not quite accept or acknowledge it just yet.

The bar is in chaos, over the last week or so dozens of hunters have made their way there, camping in their cars when the rooms that Cassidy keeps available filled, cars that spill out into the barren land that surrounds them. Everyone here has played their part, if they have not been planning, then they have been making charms, if not charms then weapons and if none of the above they have been gathering medical supplies and keeping order, so many touchy tempers gathered in one place needing only a single spark after all.

It still does not mean that they are ready.

Sam is painfully aware of that as he fingers the sword leant against his knee under the table, the sword that Dean gave him upon his arrival almost a week ago, a blade that he knows can kill angels, but has been just twisted enough that Sam can use it, demon blood in his veins and all. His brother held it like he thought it felt wrong, the sort of expression on his face that Sam would expect to see if he were holding a live snake rather than a piece of holy steal, but in the hand of the younger Winchester, it seems to fit, it feels natural, like it is a part of him and Bobby tells him that this is a good thing, so Sam takes him at his word and does not ask Dean, does not ask _Cas_ where it came from. He figures that he probably does not want to know anyway.

If one could say that anything good could come out of a war, and Sam is neither naive enough nor stupid enough to think that good can _ever_ come out of fighting and killing, at least, he is not anymore, he would say that his relationship with Dean has been strengthened by it. That they are close again, like they were before Hell, even if Sam is changed, darker, because of the demon blood and Dean is just, well, Dean is not exactly _Dean_, not like Sam remembered, but he supposes that it was foolish of him to think that Dean could come back unchanged..

His point here, though, is that they are better together now than they have been in a while and _that_ is a good thing. Castiel is as well, he thinks as he hands a charm to protect against angel voices to another hunter, the angel may be a bit broken and he may be strange and given to getting too close to other people and staring at them for too long, but really he is not so bad. The angel has done a lot for them the last year or so and Dean has accepted him into their rather strange little family, treats him like the mildly annoying middle sibling even though all three know that Cas is far older than either of the Winchesters.

So he is closer to Dean and Castiel is a friend now, almost a brother really, and they are gearing up to fight a battle that Sam suspects they cannot win, that he knows they are not even remotely ready for and he silently thinks that if he could go back in time and change the events of the last five years, he would, in a heart beat, if only so that he could prevent Dean from dying and going to Hell, or to warn himself about Ruby.

Wishes will not change anything, so he stays in his seat, hands out charms and listens as each hunter is given an adapted gun and suitable ammunition, a machete or knife issued for when they run out of bullets, and they _will_ run out of bullets.

By the time every hunter is armed and charmed, the sun is just beginning to rise.

People are dozing in corners, catching what sleep they can before the angels reach them, Castiel has told them that even though angels seem to move instantly, it will still take a while to gather up Michael's forces and move them here. It will still take time for the archangels to plan and Raphael to hide his forces among Michael's.

Sam would be the first to admit, right now, that he is terrified. Normally he would talk to Dean, try to find reassurance in the false bravado that his brother is given towards exhibiting, _was_ given towards exhibiting, these days, since Hell really, he has been tending more towards pessimism and while Sam supposes that is perfectly healthy in it's own way, it is not what he needs right now. Besides which, Dean is standing with Bobby, Cas and another hunter, one Sam thinks is called Rufus, at a table with a map spread in front of them.

They are talking tactics, a plan to survive and that is definitely not what Sam needs right now, so he goes looking for another, one he knows will need a bit of comfort, a bit of solidarity. He goes looking for Cassidy.

SPN

Cassidy looks around the room, the angels will be here soon, soon enough that the hunters are beginning to say their goodbyes to any family they may have in the world, the soft murmurs of voices as they talk to each other or on cell phones is almost hypnotic and she loses herself to it as she wanders the bar.

The barrel of her gun is cool where it has been shoved down the back of her jeans, spare ammo clinks in the pocket of her leather jacket and her t-shirt, though loose, feels too tight. Her long blonde hair has been braided to keep it out of her face and the iron charm to protect against the voice and sight of angels lies heavy against the delicate skin of her throat. She fingers it nervously as she finds the person she has been looking for. Her brother.

Peter is cleaning his shot gun, he is focussed, far more so than she has seen him since Daniel died and she sits next to him, stilling his hand by covering it with one of her own. Her brother stares at her and for a long moment it is almost like he does not see her, not really, and then he is Peter again, for however long it may last. He sets the weapon aside and covers her hand with his other.

For the longest time, all they have had is each other, in a way it makes them a lot like the Winchester brothers, and it scares her to think that she may be about to lose him, whether to the sword of an angel or the all consuming need for revenge that drives her brother in the same way that it drives so many hunters and she cannot comprehend a life lived in so much unending hate.

She tells him to be careful, wants him back at the bar and in the kitchen to help her when this is all over and the world is as safe as it can be all things considered. The words sound hollow, even to her own ears, and his answering smile is sad as he shakes his head. He does not need to use words to tell her that even if he survives he will not be returning, she knew it would be the case, even when she made the offer, this place holds far too many memories for him, memories of a love that, deep down, she knows he will never allow himself to feel again.

So she puts her arms around him, holds him like she will never be able to again whether they both survive or not. She feels him look up as another shadow falls on the table, hears him tell someone to take care of her and she turns, sees Sam standing nearby as Peter lets her go, picks up the shot gun and rises. He pauses beside Sam for a moment as the youngest remaining Winchester assures him that he will watch over Cassidy, shakes his hand, and then leaves them alone.

Cassidy looks up at him, even when she gets to her feet he towers above her, and tries to shrug off her brother's words. Sam is having none of it, insists that she stay close to him when they get out there and she knows that she will. She also knows that even though her brother has asked Sam to watch over her, when this is over, if they both survive, Sam will leave, he will not stay, is not obliged to and as nice as it has been to have him around, to travel with him and get to know him, to begin to _trust_ him, when this is over he will be gone.

She will be alone.

Cassidy does not know if she fears that or the angels more. Still, the gun at the small of her back and the heavy machete at her hip are a small comfort, an indication that she will not go down without a fight and while her weapons are no where near as impressive as the swords that are strapped to the hips of both Winchesters or the dark wood bow that is held loosely in Castiel's left hand, they are enough.

When Sam goes over to his brother, friend and surrogate father, Cassidy follows, discomforted by the fact that she feels at a loss in her own bar, her own _home_, except that she figures that these men understand it, and she needs to know the game plan, so she sticks close to Sam, has a feeling that the tall man would tell her to do that anyway.

She listens to Castiel explain what they need to do, why they need to do it this way, that the angels will not stop if they simply kill Michael and she has to wonder when her life got so damn difficult. She wonders how she managed to go from worrying about the occasional brawl in the bar, to all out war against Heaven.

It sounds strange in her mind, to say that they are about to do war unto Heaven, aside from the fact that it is a strange, archaic phrase and one that she saw in a book somewhere that has stuck with her until this moment. So they are to do war unto the angels.

She only has to consider now how many of them will be dead by nightfall.

_**People can no longer cover their eyes  
If this disturbs you then walk away  
You will remember the night you were struck by the sight of  
Ten Thousand fists in the air **_

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review_ _that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


	2. Chapter 2

_This should have been up last night, my landlord forgot that the internet bill need paying so we got cut off. All fixed now though. I have just one request, please don't kill me for the end of this._

_**Power un-restrained dead on the mark  
Is what we will deliver tonight, deliver tonight  
Pleasure fused with pain this triumph of the soul  
Will make you shiver tonight, will make you shiver tonight, yeah**_

Castiel has called all the hunters together, Helez at his side now since it is not safe for him to return to the garrison in case Michael realises what he has been doing, it is time to tell them what is needed of them, time to tell them how they are going to try and win this war.

There will be no chance to fall back, no chance to regroup and rethink, once the battle is joined the angels will be tireless, they will be relentless and if the hunters fall back, if they try to regroup or run, the angels will slaughter them. Their one hope, the one possible way to end it, is to pave the way for Raphael to take control.

This means that they will have to kill Michael and Gabriel, the other angels, those lower in the garrisons, will fall into line behind him, many will not even realise that Raphael will have orchestrated the betrayal of other which will ultimately lead to this. All Dean and Castiel have to do is get close enough to the two leading archangels to kill them. If only it were as easy to do as he makes it sound.

Castiel has never lead before, not really, not into battle. He was always low enough that he could follow the orders of others, later he would be one to deliver the orders, but he is not a leader, not naturally, so it frustrates him that, rather than be allowed to fade into the background, the hunters look to him for direction as much as they look to Sam, Bobby and Dean. He gives orders to them as best he can, fingers his bow absently as he does so, the only sign of nerves that he will allow himself to display.

He is about to go into battle with his former brothers and sisters, he is about to kill his own kind and even though he knows that it is for a good reason, for his Father's chosen children, he cannot help but balk a little at the thought of it all. He knows that Helez is not experiencing the same thoughts, the same doubt, the other angel believes that what he is doing is right, has not experienced the things that Castiel has to make him doubt so. If Raphael tells him that this is the right thing, then Helez believes it and Castiel envies him that.

The day is overcast, as Dean said it should have been when Lucifer was killed, the clouds heavy with a dusty orange tinge to them. In the distance, but getting ever closer, Castiel can feel the steady pulse of gathered grace, hundreds of angels coming towards them at a terrifying rate and he knows that the time for talk is ended.

The hunters do not so much form up as they gather into a mass, staring at the skyline and waiting for the wrath of Heaven to descend upon them all. At the front stands Dean, with Castiel to his left and Sam to his right, Cassidy and Bobby flank Sam and Castiel respectively and even though the front is the worst place for them to be, Castiel cannot imagine Dean waiting at the back whilst others die to protect him. Behind him he hears the click of the safeties being taken off dozens of weapons all at the same time, raises his bow as Dean brings both of his own guns forward, sees Bobby raise a shot gun out the corner of his eye and long fingers caress the curve of dark wood as he utters a brief prayer for his friends, his new family.

The hunters are nervous, though they try not to show it, but no one runs, no one tries to leave, they just wait, the sound of the angels battle cry washing over them three times before they even bother to respond and when they do the sound is near deafening, it puts the angels to shame. The humans have their world, their existence to defend, it lends itself to making them passionate.

The army of angels does not so much rush at them as it simply appears before them and Castiel feels the humans at his back flinch away from him a little, away from the Host before them and he is no less overwhelmed by the sight of them. Before, when he was among them, he had known that they were an intimidating and impressive sight, but to stand there, waiting for the wrath of Heaven to rain down upon him, upon all of them, it is rather more than he had ever expected to see.

Like Dean, Sam and Castiel, Michael, Gabriel and Raphael are stood in front of the Host, ready to lead them into battle, though Castiel cannot help but notice the reluctant way that the healing angel seems to hold his sword. The hand that is holding the bow trembles slightly at the thought of what they are facing and Dean nods to him, fingers twitching on the triggers of his weapon. There is a silent order there, one that tells him not to get himself killed, Dean expects him alive at the end of all of this and Castiel whole heartedly wants to stay, so he nods back and then Dean shouts and the front line of hunters unleash a barrage of bullets adapted and changed so that they will kill angels.

When Michael realises what they have, it changes everything. Arrows fly and the angels without bows move forward, some rushing to their deaths as Gabriel and Michael separate from Raphael and each other. They are so caught up in the heat of the battle, in the slaying of hunters who barely have time to react to the onslaught, that they do not notice when Raphael orders his angels to break away, to turn on their brothers and sisters.

Other angels do, and the air is filled with the cries of man and angel, the flash of grace as warriors fall, the thick scent of blood and gun powder, of death, and still they keep fighting. It reminds him of the day that Lucifer's rebellion came to a head, the day that Lucifer lead those who followed him against their Father, except that time he was on the winning team.

He realises he has lost track of Dean and the others, spots Sam and Cassidy stood back to back surrounded by angels and struggling to hold their own, he fires off three arrows rapidly, slings his bow across his back and stoops to pick up the sword of one of his fallen former brothers, uses it in their defence, takes a moment to assure himself that they are alright, then begins to search for Dean.

He does not find him straight away, sees Raphael more than holding his own against superior numbers for but a moment, before he comes face to face with Gabriel.

Although the archangel wears the body of a small woman, Castiel knows that this only serves to make his brother all that much more dangerous. Gabriel does not bother with words, does not need to, there is nothing to be said between the superior and the damaged angel, they were never friends, had only ever spoken once before the breaking of the seals happened and after that there was never a reason for them to really have anything to do with one another.

It quickly turns into a fight for Castiel's very existence, the archangel is the superior swordsman, and Castiel realises that he is not fighting to live because he made a promise to Dean, he is fighting to live because he _wants_ to. He wants the time to understand what he has become, he wants the time to explore the part of him that is human, to figure out how it meshes with the part of him that is still an angel, he wants to see the world through human eyes and as humans see it, and he is finally beginning to understand why Anna chose to fall.

He has wondered many times what happened to her after she was finally captured, avoided really thinking about it because he was the one to betray her, before he was betrayed himself. He knows that in all likelihood they killed her and he would spend more time thinking on it , except that he is still focussing more on not dying.

His attention wavers for a moment, however, when he sees Dean barely holding his own against another angel, sees Michael approaching him from behind with his sword raised and he shouts a warning to him. The distraction has cost him, however, when he feels a moment of pain so sharp, so powerful, that for a second everything flashes white. His legs slide out from under him, then, and no matter how he tries he cannot get them to obey, to bring him upright, as his borrowed blade slips from nerveless fingers. As he pitches forward he hears his name being called, distant, almost like a memory and he frowns when he feels slippery warmth between his fingers.

The white flashes again and he is numb, cold, floating.  
**_  
People can no longer cover their eyes  
If this disturbs you then walk away  
You will remember the night you were struck by the sight of  
Ten Thousand fists in the air _**

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis _


	3. Chapter 3

_Final part. I told everyone not to hate me! Anyway, there was going to be a fic after this, this chapter was going to focus on Dean's part of the battle and end differently as a set up for Darkness (Cover Me) but when I got to it, Darkness was superfluous to requirement and the main jist of it could be put into this fic leaving thing open if I ever decide to return to this verse. I don't think I will, I'm quite happy with it as it stands now._

_Also, Punky, this is because you were so very persuasive.  
_

_**We are the ones that will open your mind  
Leave the weak and the haunted behind  
We are the ones that will open your mind  
Leave the weak and the haunted behind**_

Dean cannot deny that he is nervous, it is only natural to be worried when the might of Heaven is about to turn up and try, very seriously he might add, to kill them all. Dean Winchester may be many things, but he is not the sort to let his mistakes go uncorrected, not the major ones anyway.

So his focus the last few months has all been on finding a way to stop the angels from taking everything away from everyone and it is a task that he has thrown himself into, because, like Lucifer, it is a task that he can use to distract himself from the nightmares of Hell, from the memories that threaten to overwhelm him every time he has a moment to himself to think.

He does not think, tries not to, but is wondering what he will do when this is all over, if he even survives this fight, and there is a part of him that actually does not_ want_ to survive it all. He will though, he is determined that he will, if only because he knows now just how badly Sam will cope without him, added to that Sam cannot take care of Castiel properly, does not really understand what the angel has lost and cannot be expected to because he is not the one who asked Castiel to give up everything. That was Dean's fault and he _has_ to be the one to help the angel.

This is bigger than he thought it would be, though, there are more of them and even though he has people behind him and beside him Dean feels alone, feels naked with just two glocks and a sword at his hip.

There is no exchange of words, at this point Dean figures it would be worthless anyway, he simply raises his guns, hears the safeties being let off others and waits until the angels are well and truly in front of them before he almost screams the order. The sounds of the first shots are deafening and he sees dozens of angels fall to well aimed bullets before he is out of ammo and replacing the clips. He does this three times before he starts counting bullets and aiming shots better. When he is down to ten bullets he drops one gun, holsters the other, and draws the sword.

Somewhere in all the chaos he has lost his brother, lost Cas, and he is facing angels on his own. Sometimes another will help him, but he has been up all night and even adrenaline cannot work miracles, Dean is tiring, leaving a path of dead and dying behind him and trying his best to block out the screams that they make as blades sink into them.

There is little gunfire now, their ammunition was not limitless, not like the arrows in Castiel's magic quiver, and many of the hunters have fallen back upon the knives they were given. They are losing, Dean can see it in the way there is a dozen angels to a hunter, the way that other angels are slowly being swamped by their own kind and he wonders how he let things get like this. He wonders why he did not just bury his head in the sand and enjoy his last years on Earth as much as he could. Except that it is not in his nature to do that, not in Sam's or Bobby's, not in Castiel's either.

The point is that he is exhausted, the muscles in his arms burn and he nearly drops the sword he is clinging to as he tries to block a heavy blow from an angel wearing the body of a man who is twice Dean's size and with the strength of an angel he is doubly dangerous. He uses a bullet on him, mourns the waste of it when he is saving it for taking out Michael, but does it all the same, needs to be alive to kill Michael after all and hopes that Sam sticks to his part of the plan, hopes that Sam can take out Gabriel in a similar manner.

The battle needs to end quickly, it is one of the few things that they have agreed upon since day one, the angels need to be taken out quickly and even though the charms that the hunters all wear allow them to hear angels true voices and see their true forms, they can do little against the strength of them when they are not drawn into the ground.

There is another after that, and another and another, he feels like he has been fighting for days even though he knows that this has probably only been happening for an hour. He barely even hears the sounds anymore, his focus is all forward, on the next enemy, on the search for Michael, on the hot metal in his hands and holstered at his side, focussed on the fight, see enemy angel, block strike, kill as soon as humanly possible.

Somewhere, somehow, he hears his name being called, turns to find it and catches a glimpse of Michael, draws his holstered weapon and shoots, once at the angel he is struggling with, once at the archangel, then looks to find the source of the call, turns in time to see Gabriel's sword go through Castiel's abdomen and his sword is forgotten, slips from his hand as he sees Cas fall in the dirt and the glock is raised, fires once, twice, three times, sees each one pierce the body of the woman Gabriel took as vessel.

He does not stop to see if any of them were kill shots, does not see the three flashes of grace as angel and archangel alike die, does not even notice the sounds of the battle beginning to halt as Raphael calls for the fighting to stop. All he sees is Castiel lying in the dirt, blood spreading across his shirt, spilling from between his hands as he frowns at it like he does not understand it. He breathes the angel's name, the name of the one who pulled him from Hell, the name of the first real friend he has had who has not been his dad's or Sam's or Bobby's first, the friend who is dying.

_All because of him_.

All because Dean could not leave well enough alone, because he could not accept Sam's death, could not hold on for ten years longer, because he had to kill Lucifer and then act out against the angels. Dean is tired of seeing his family, of seeing his friends, die. So he lies to him, to Castiel, presses his hands against the jagged wound, draws a startle cry of pain from the other man and tells him that everything is going to be alright, that Raphael will be here soon and that he will fix this.

When Raphael _does_ arrive, Castiel is still, the only sign that he is still alive is the occasional flutter of his chest as he struggles for air and Dean knows that were it not for his grace, shattered or not, the former angel would have been dead long before now. There is sorrow on the face of the blind vessel, one hand used to smooth sweat soaked dark hair from Castiel's forehead as the other pushes against Dean's hands, glowing with a light that seems to leech through the skin of joined hands as Cas gasps and opens his eyes.

Dean wants to believe that Raphael has fixed this, that Cas is going to be alright, except that the way that the hand has not moved, the way that blood still seems to be seeping between his fingers, tells Dean that the only reason Castiel is alive and conscious at the moment is because Raphael is keeping him there.

"I can save you, Little One," the archangel's voice is grave, hypnotic, "but to do so I need to fix all that is broken, you would need to return to us." It takes a moment for Dean to process what has happened, what has been offered, but he turns to Castiel, expects to see an agreement there and is surprised when he sees the beginning of stubborn refusal. He does not give Cas the chance to answer, simply turns his eyes onto Raphael and tells him to do it, he will not let Castiel die, he promised himself that it would not happen and he intends for that to be so.

He already has too much blood on his hands, literally and metaphorically, he does not want Castiel's to be added to that list of names. He understands what it would mean, he understands what Cas would lose, that he would not be able to return to the world after, that Dean may never see him again even if he, by some miracle, gets into Heaven, that he would lose all of the emotions and all of the humanity that the damaged angel has fought hard to keep. Dean knows all of that and is relieved and grieved when his friend agrees.

Raphael tells him to release his hold, summons two of his loyal cohort to take Castiel, there is a flash and when it clears there is not even a body, nothing to bury, nothing to burn, just Castiel's dark wood bow and limitless quiver of arrows. Dean picks them up when he stands and looks out over the battle ground.

"You understand that this is merely a postponement of the inevitable," Raphael tells him, also watching as hunters help angels tend to the wounded and dying of both sides. "With Lucifer defeated, one way or the other Paradise will come. It is down to you and your kind to bring that peace to this world. I wish you luck." The archangel bows his head to the hunter, throws his head back and the hunters are all forced to cover their eyes as all around them angels vacate their vessels, leaving behind confused or unconscious civilians.

Dean decides that the clean up is going to be a bitch.

The first thing he does is look for Sam and Bobby, and it feels strange to be picking through the bodies on his own when he has spent so long with either Castiel or Sam as a shadow and he feels a pang of sorrow at the thought of the angel. He finds Bobby first, sporting a nasty gash on his cheek and a broken arm, it makes him feel bad for just being bruised, although now that the adrenaline is wearing off he's certain that his breathing is as laboured as it is because he has bruised some ribs. Sam is in better condition too, gently steering Cassidy away from a mutilated body that Dean is horrified to realise belongs to Peter.

He tells them about Cas as they make their way back to the bar, tells them what Raphael said and really he should be worrying about the fact that he is supposed to usher in an age of peace and plenty, but at the moment he wants to sleep for a week, a month, a year.

Given that only about half of Black's is still standing, Dean realises that is not going to happen anytime soon. Oddly, he does not mind that thought.

**_People can no longer cover their eyes  
If this disturbs you then walk away  
You will remember the night you were struck by the sight of  
Ten Thousand fists in the air_**

**_Ten Thousand fists in the air  
Ten Thousand fists in the air_**

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


End file.
